not normal
by iLoVeLoGaN
Summary: oneshot rogan. tis crap


(a/n: ok, Ive gone over this and dun the spellings thing... I think im gonna make a story out of this, so... since it says in the summery 'THIS IS A ROGAN FIC' if you dont like it, dont read it. Dumbass.) 

He knew it was wrong. That's why he hid it. The feeling that tore at his chest when he was in the same room as the girl. Yes, she was just a girl. Compared to him anyway. He watched, like a hawk as her slender form moved through the crowded kitchen, un-noticed. She liked it that way. Not being noticed by anyone. She liked to blend into the background, and observe. Like him.

She pushed passed the leader. Slim. Then grabbed a bagel and sat at the table.

"Hey Logan." She mumbled. Like always. Never a loud person. Her voice was always, soft, and thrilling. That southern drawl just made it sound even more seductive- no. He can't think that.

"Mornin' stripes." He said. Hiding behind pet names, like, kid, and stripes, to mask the sick thoughts that he had around her. Sick, yes, that's what they were. To him anyway.

Chuck says its normal, but Logan believes different. He sipped on his tea, peering over the cup at her, as she pulled off her gloves and started pulling apart her bagel. Logan watched as she popped the torn pieces in her mouth. He lost his grip on the cup, and the hot tea spilled down his navy blue shirt. He stood up, dropping the paper.

"Shit!" He shouted.

Rogue jumped up, grabbing a cloth, then started dabbing at the spilled mark down his chest. Logan paused, watching her. The scalding had healed already. "Are you all right?" She asked.

"Yea...healing factor. Remember." He said. Then took the cloth from her, carfull not to touch her, he left the room and stalked to his own room slamming the door in a mindless rage. Tearing off his shirt, he threw it down, and kicked his dresser. This was too much. He couldn't take it much longer. It was too strong, to fight.

Then came a knock on the door, and it pushed open. "Logan... what's wrong?" Rogue asked. Stepping into his room. He turned to face her, and paused his fit of rage. The agar melting away at the pale look of her skin.

"Nothing." He said, pulling out a shirt and putting it on.

"Then why are you trashing your room?" She asked, putting her hands on her hips and transfusing her weight onto one foot. He closed his eyes, erasing the thoughts.

He mentally kicked himself, thinking of her lips so much isn't healthy when you don't know how old you are and the girl in question is only 17.

"Logan? Have I done something to you? Because you've been acting strange around me lately."

"No." He said plainly. If he spoke to her any longer, he would explode. He wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to hold her. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, and breath her in. It all sounded so simple. To be with someone you desire so much. Just two people, being together. Then reason sinks in. Two people, one who had no idea how old he is, and could be in the hundreds... and a 17 year old girl who can't touch. The comments they would hear, the snickers and the rumours. If only she knew how he felt about her. That's why he stopped the training sessions, that were just him and her.

"Logan..." She said, walking up and placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked down at her. Did she know? She stopped her sentence and looked up at him. She smiled, her hand moving to his face, she wiped away some tea that must have splashed on his face. He stepped back startled. "Tea." She said. He chuckled, and sat down on his bed. Rogue followed.

She knew it would hurt him, but he was hiding something from her, and she wanted to know if it was what she suspected. She moved in and brushed her lips on his, feeling the energy and memories flow into her. She saw everything, she knew everything and liked it. So she switched off her power and kissed him slowly, after a moment, feeling him respond. then pass out. "Sweet dreams sugar" she whispered. Then left the room. Next time, she would switch her power off before she kissed him.


End file.
